Ten
As Xiu walked towards his desk, with one eyebrow raised and a half-smile she was clearly trying to suppress, Miller began to suspect that she’d overheard his phone conversation with Dr Priya Acharya; a call which, among other things, had confirmed exactly how Ezra Simmons had died and the ‘weapon’ which had been responsible.
‘So, what’s the verdict?’
‘We’ll get to that,’ Miller said. ‘More importantly, though, do you think she might have been … flirting with me?’
‘Acharya?’
‘I’m asking, while fully aware that you’re not exactly an expert. I’m guessing that your idea of someone being flirty consists of them shaking their sweaty hair in your face and mumbling something about a kick-arse guitar solo.’
Xiu’s half-smile had disappeared.
The truth was that Miller was hardly an expert himself and never had been.
Deciphering signals of any sort was not what anyone would call his strong suit, least of all those he thought might be being sent from a member of the opposite sex.
A woman could whip her top off, wink, and whisper, ‘Do you fancy it, big boy?’ and Miller would still worry he was misreading the situation.
Since Alex’s death the very idea of such a thing had been alien to him.
Unthinkable. Only a few months before, however, Xiu herself had told him the day would eventually come when he might start feeling differently.
That he wouldn’t always feel guilty about fancying another woman, or freeze at the very idea of another woman fancying him.
Miller thought about the way Priya Acharya had been with him on the phone – some of the things she’d said, how she’d said them – and he wondered if that day had arrived.
They had always been pally.
‘So, what do you think? You reckon she was flirting?’
‘How should I know?’ Xiu asked.
‘You were listening. I know you were.’
‘Yes, obviously, but only to your side of the conversation.’
‘So, what does your finely honed instinct tell you?’
Xiu considered it for a few seconds, or pretended to. ‘That it’s highly unlikely.’
‘Fair enough,’ Miller said. ‘A little harsh, maybe.’
Xiu sighed. ‘Tell me what she said.’
‘She suggested that we could talk through her findings in more detail over a glass of wine or something.’
‘No, I meant—’
Miller nodded, knowingly. ‘Or something.’
‘What did she say about Simmons?’
‘Oh.’ Miller looked at his screen; the email Acharya had sent through while they were talking on the phone. ‘That she was right, basically. About the heavy blunt object. The heavy blunt object in question being … da da daaaa … a rock.’
Xiu nodded. ‘So, he was beaten to death with a rock.’
‘Well, it would be more accurate to say by a rock. She spoke to one of the frogmen, who confirmed the presence of several rocks not far under the surface of the lake. Basically, Simmons was unlucky, because he fell backwards into the lake and brained himself on one of them. A rock … as opposed to one of the frogmen.’
‘Thank you for clarifying that.’
‘I mean, we could send an underwater team back in there to try and identify the particular rock responsible, but I don’t see a lot of point.’
‘No point whatsoever,’ Xiu said.
‘That’s definitely a chunk of the budget that could be better spent elsewhere.’
‘Absolutely. A couple of new computers at the very least. An extra uniform or two for the next door-to-door operation.’
‘Well, I was actually thinking about biscuits again,’ Miller said. ‘But we’re broadly on the same page. More importantly, though, this rock business … on top of the CCTV footage that Mr Mirza brought in … gets Barry Cheshire off the hook.’
‘I agree.’
‘Now, don’t you feel bad for being so nasty and suspicious?’
‘Not remotely,’ Xiu said.
‘I thought not.’ Miller stood up. ‘Right, let’s go and give him the good news.’
Half an hour later, once the necessary paperwork had been completed, Miller walked Barry Cheshire out.
His reaction to the news that he would be able to go home had been somewhat less effusive than Miller was expecting, but he was clearly relieved to hear that he was now known to be in no way responsible for Ezra Simmons’s death.
They stood, jacketless, in front of the main entrance, waiting for the taxi Miller had ordered.
It was a nice enough afternoon, the fag-end of it; not what anyone would call spring sunshine – not unless you broadened the definition considerably – but it wasn’t cold and it wasn’t raining, which in this part of the world was often as close to balmy as you got.
Cheshire turned to look at Miller. ‘So, that’s it, then?’
‘Well, there’s still a few Ts to cross and Is to dot, but yeah, I think so.’
‘Is this where you tell me not to leave Blackpool?’
Miller narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you planning to leave Blackpool?’
Cheshire shook his head.
‘Why the hell not? It’s largely a festering shithole, and I say that as someone who loves the place more than anyone.’
‘So … ?’
‘Strictly speaking, you’re being bailed,’ Miller said.
‘But once the Crown Prosecution Service gets a look at the video evidence and the pathologist’s report, that’ll be the end of it.
Well, almost certainly. So yes, last month they authorised charges against a woman who was wholly innocent, largely because she’d been dead for several years, but I’m sure that was just a computer glitch. ’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Sadly not, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Next thing you’ll hear from us is that there’s officially no further action to be taken.’ Miller watched Cheshire nod slowly and turn away to stare out across the car park. ‘I forgot to ask. Who’s looking after your dog?’
‘My wife, theoretically,’ Cheshire said.
‘What, she’s theoretically looking after the dog, or she’s theoretically your wife?’
‘Well … both.’ Cheshire turned back, obviously pained.
‘I doubt she’s giving Ruby a great deal of attention because …
well, Stacey’s not really an animal person.
She never wanted a dog to begin with, and certainly didn’t want to spend any money on vet bills after Ruby hurt her back.
She was all in favour of … you know … a different option. ’
Miller winced, but said nothing. He was remembering the brouhaha that had ensued a year or so before, when the vet who looked after Fred and Ginger had casually mentioned that euthanasia would cost a good deal less than the dental treatment Fred needed.
The raised voices had brought a receptionist running into the consulting room, just as Alex was letting the vet know, somewhat forcefully, that if he ever made such a suggestion again, he would be the one requiring dental treatment.
‘Here we go …’ Miller waved, and took a step towards the taxi that had turned into the car park, but Cheshire hung back. He was clearly keen to pass on a little more about his theoretical wife.
‘On top of which, things with me and Stacey aren’t great right now.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Miller said.
Cheshire shrugged and grunted. ‘Been on the cards for a while, if I’m honest. Ever since I came out of the army, I suppose. But now things are not exactly normal at home, you know?’
‘Right.’ Miller waved at the taxi again, a little more urgently.
‘It’s fair to say we’ve not got what you’d call a normal domestic set-up.’
The repeated, if vague, description of a home life that was most definitely not normal, made Miller worry, just for a moment, that he was about to be subjected to tales of swinging parties or sex dungeons, so he stepped quickly to open the back door of the taxi when it finally pulled up.
Cheshire moved to join him. ‘Are you married, Detective Sergeant?’
‘I used to be.’ Miller stood aside.
‘Oh, well, you know, then. How awkward things can get when you—’
‘My wife died.’ Miller watched an expression with which he had become all too familiar slide across Barry Cheshire’s face.
Shock, obviously, then embarrassment and that pointless flicker of hope around most people’s eyes that someone might step in and rescue them.
Miller had not just grown used to the reaction, but had even learned to relish it in certain situations; if he was massively bored, or keen to extricate himself from a tricky social impasse.
If the individual concerned had pissed him off sufficiently, he might even follow up the dead-wife lead with the knockout punch of ‘Actually, she was murdered’, but the man now staring at him, pale and open-mouthed, had done nothing to deserve that kind of punishment.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ Miller genuinely was. ‘I didn’t need to say that.’
‘Yeah, you did.’ Cheshire nodded. ‘And you’ve got nothing to apologise for if you’re just telling people the truth.’
‘I could have found a different way to say it.’
‘Why should you, though?’ Cheshire leaned down to toss his plastic bag of possessions into the back of the car, then held out his hand. ‘Life’s too bloody short to pussyfoot around.’
Miller shook the man’s hand. He told him he hoped that things got a bit easier at home and wished him luck, then watched as the taxi moved away.
Turning back towards the entrance, he saw Tim Sullivan step out through the automatic doors and, taking Cheshire’s wise final words to heart, he gave the DI the finger, just in case he didn’t get a chance to do it later on.